Neon Drinks
by Redhead Maniac
Summary: The MacManus twins go clubbing to a bordering city, and Murphy decides to give the fancy, colourful drinks a try. Who knew they'd hit so damn hard? Conphy.


**A/N: **For my twin's Birthday 3  
This is COMPLETELY un-betaed, I haven't even re-read through the text, I'm too tired *facepalms* So forgive any mistakes I've made.  
Also, excuse my attempt at Irish slang, might've used some words in a weird way.  
The lyrics belong to Lady Gaga — "Just Dance". Was listening to that on repeat while writing.

* * *

_I've had a little bit too much, much_  
_All of the people start to rush._  
_Start to rush by._  
_A dizzy twister dance_  
_Where are my keys, I lost my phone._  
_What's going on on the floor?_  
_I love this record baby, but I can't see straight anymore._  
_Keep it cool what's the name of this club?_  
_I can't remember but it's alright, I'm alright._

They were thrumming with excitement. It was a split-second decision, a 'screw you all!' thing to pack an old bag with the cleanest pair of clothes they could find and hit the road for the weekend. They took a train to Somerville, where no one knew them, and rented the cheapest room in the motel. Then they went clubbing.

It wasn't really their thing, both brothers preferred a good Irish bar to the loud booming of the music and the dancing crowd, but they figured it was worth a try when they were walking past a flashing neon sign.

Actually, it was Connor's idea. The fucker just looked up at the pink letters, then glanced back at Murph, and Murph knew he was fucked.

They took a place by the bar, pressed closely together and more than a bit of tension settled into their shoulders. The music was deafening, and the flashing lights made it hard to discern anything in the dark, but just enough for them to catch the other's eye once in a while. The clinking of glasses and the droned-out conversations created a ringing in the twins' ears.

Connor sipped his third beer, scanning the crowd and obviously trying to decide whether he liked it here or not. But, of course, even if he didn't, he would never admit that. The stubborn ass dragged them here, so it was a principle to him.

"Conn!" Murphy had to shout to get his twin's attention.

"Aye?" the blond turned his head towards his brother.

"Ye ever tried any of the fancy shit?" Murph's eyebrows rose up with curiosity.

"Te fuck do ye mean?"

Murphy waved his hand at the laminated black menu resting on the bar top in front of him, "This shit!"

The elder twin just snorted, conveying a look that clearly said 'No, are ye out of yer mind?'.

Chewing on his fingernail, Murphy muttered a quiet "Right", before waving to grab the bartender's attention and placing his order.

When the man slammed a tall glass of something _green_ in front of Murphy, Connor almost choked on his beer.

"Te fuck is that?!"

"Fuck if I know!" Murphy's sly grin stretched so wide that Connor couldn't help but roll his eyes at his twin's silliness and smile as well.

"Yer such a fucken qeer!"

Murphy ignored him in favour of his drink, inconspicuously sniffing it before glancing around and making a quick, tentative lick.

Connor chortled, covering his face with a free hand. Sometimes his brother reminded him of a curious cat, and fuck if that didn't look adorable. Of course, Connor would sooner die than admit that to anyone, Murphy included.

"Ain't so bad," announced the younger MacManus, taking a big gulp of his cocktail.

"Right," Connor snorted and turned sideways, watching the couples writhe on the dance floor. Slowly, minute by minute, he was starting to relax. So maybe this place wasn't as bad after all.

* * *

For the next two hours Connor watched with amusement as Murphy downed one colourful drink after another, claiming that he liked the fruity concoctions because they were "sweet as fuck". Connor found the comparison funny, but he knew that Murph had a sweet tooth, so it shouldn't have come as a surprise.

What did surprise him, however, was how quickly Murphy became plastered.

Apparently those girly drinks were a deceiving, dangerous thing, creeping up on their unsuspecting, skeptical victims.

"Murph, yer langered!" Connor shouted in his twin's ear, one arm slung around his shoulders because Murphy looked about to tip from his stool.

"Aye! This place is craic!" he slurred, blue eyes glinting with an excited fever. "Conn, I want ta dance!"

That, however, was where Connor drew the line, scowling and pushing his twin away to grip his tall glass of beer.

"Murph, I don't fucken dance. That's just gay."

"So?"

Murphy's innocent question caught him completely off-guard and left flabbergasted. Huffing in irritation, the blond replied, "So! I amn't doing that shit. Go if ye want, I'm just fine here with my drink."

"Fine, be a prick about it," Murphy rolled his eyes and hopped off the stool, swaying and barely managing to catch himself before a very intimate meeting with the floor.

Immediately, Connor was turned around and eying his twin with a concerned glance, his protective-brother-alarm going off.

"Sit yer arse down Murph!"

However, the younger MacManus was very determined to join the partying crowd. "Fuck off!"

Growling and becoming agitated, as well as pissed off, Connor pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Murph, just sit the fuck down, please? Don't ruin the fucken night, alright?"

"Yer the one ruining it, sourpuss!" Murphy's thin lips became a straight line, his glare burning something fierce through Connor's thick-headed skull.

"Fine."

"What?!" Murphy leaned forwards, putting a hand to his ear because he couldn't hear shit from the loud music.

"I said fine! Ye want ta dance, we are goin ta dance," Connor shouted, voice laced with irritation. He hated the idea, but he hated the idea of his brother hurting himself or some random jerk taking advantage of his vulnerable state even more. So he chose the lesser evil out of the two.

Quickly paying the tab, the elder MacManus gripped Murphy's shoulder and guided his stumbling twin towards the dance-floor, muttering a few apologies as they inevitably bumped into some people until they found a clear spot.

"There. Ye can dance now," scoffed the blond, putting his hands in his back pockets and watching a dumb-struck Murphy. That didn't last for long.

To his utter surprise Murphy actually followed his instruction and did just that.

And Jesus H. Christ, how he _did_ that.

Connor was sure he had missed some very important part of their life, because this? He never fucking saw Murphy dance, didn't even know he _could_ dance, but what he saw right now proved the complete opposite of his convictions.

Fuck, Murphy could dance.

He watched, mouth gone slack, as Murphy's lean body swayed to the music, his drunkenness seeming to play to his advantage as his motions became uninhabited and fluid.

Connor's eyes have finally adjusted to the imminent darkness, allowing him to take in how his normally shy, awkward twin put everything he had into the moves, the way he raised his arms up over his head and rocked his slender hips from side to side at the strong beat.

The throng of people seemed to close around them, the smell of smoke and sweat assaulting Connor's senses and the body heat of jumping, grinding strangers creating a suffocating wave of his own heat. Connor felt little drops of perspirations collecting on his brow and back, making his black shirt stick to his body in uncomfortable ways.

"I don't think this is such a good idea Mur.." he didn't get to finish as he felt a pair of hands settle on his waist, making him jump and turn around, eyes widened in surprise.

"The fuck, lady?!" he yelled, taking a hasty step back from the tall brunette who looked at him with clear confusion.

"Don't you want to dance, prettyboy?"

Before Connor could spit out a retort, the scenario repeated and there was another pair of hands, albeit much larger, gripping his waist.

"Sorry lass, prettyboy here is taken," Connor could hear the grin in Murphy's voice as he rested his chin on his shoulder.

"Oh, you're.. Okay, sorry," the woman gave an awkward little smile and disappeared back into the moving crowd.

"So, who's saving whose arse, brotha' dear?"

Oh, that little shit.

Connor swirled around on his toes, Murphy quickly adjusting his grip so that he was securely encircling Connor's middle, a shiteating grin surely present on his lips.

His gaze was electrifying, and Connor felt the hairs on his arms stand on end.

"Murph, the fuck are ye doin?" he didn't have any conviction in his voice this time. It seemed to have seeped out with Murphy pressing their hips firmly together.

"Dancin," the younger MacManus looked at him like he was a fine idiot.

"Jesus, I can't believe I.." Connor started, feeling slightly uncomfortable about _such_ proximity in a crowded place. Sure, they were as close as two peas in a pod, and certainly did a lot of touching, but never like _this_. Not in front of people.

"Relax," Murphy's raspy voice drawled right in his ear, sending a mighty shiver down Connor's spine before he felt a sweet pair of lips pressed against his own. And he actually meant _sweet_.

Fuck, if Murphy's lips tasted like this from the fancy drinks, he could only imagine what the inside of his mouth tasted like.

He decided to find out.

When the saccharine taste hit his senses, Connor took a greedy gulp of air and drove his brother's tongue back inside with his own, sweeping the inside of his mouth and collecting any sweet moisture he could find.

Connor definitely wasn't a fan of sweets, but he sure as fuck loved to lick it out of Murphy.

Moaning into the heated kiss and fisting his fingers in Connor's blond hair, Murphy ground their hips together, almost straddling Connor's thigh between his own and fucking _riding_ it like a cowgirl.

The pop-tune blared right through their brains, the hazy smoke wafting up from the multiple lit cigarettes creating a see-through cover, making it so that the patrons had to know where they were looking if they wanted to see anything.

"Murph.. Murph, c'mere," Connor managed to gasp out as he broke the kiss.

"Aye?" the little devil smirked up at his brother and tilted his face down to nuzzle at Connor's fucking sensitive neck.

"Ye.. Ye wanna go home?"

"Nope, I'm having too much fun, I want ta dance, Conn," there was unmistakable teasing and arrogance in his voice. Payback for Connor's grumpy behaviour.

Groaning in defeat, Connor nodded, catching his brother's hips in a tight grip and swallowing, hard.

"O-okay, Murph, we'll dance. Yeah, we'll dance."

* * *

Connor didn't look at the old clock hanged in the motel's hallway when they've stumbled inside. If he would have, he'd had seen the hands pointing at 5 and 12, respectively. The sun would be coming up soon, but for now the streets were still shrouded in darkness.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted as he tried to fish out the keys from the back pocket of his jeans while trying to keep his hands on Murphy.

The younger twin stupidly giggled at his brother's hastiness, hands roaming under Connor's drenched shirt and smearing the sweat down his chest and flat stomach.

"Co-o-onn," he drawled, thumping his head against the wooden door and trying to pull the blond on top of him.  
"Fuck, Murph, wait a fucken second, will ye?!" Connor snapped, finally managing to produce the key and stick it in, opening the door.

Needless to say, that caused Murphy, who was heavily leaning on the door, to fall in with a loud yelp and sprawl on the floor.

"Ow! Fucker!"

"Sh-hh!" hissed the elder twin, snickering through his drunken stupor and kicking Murphy's legs to the side to close the door behind them.

He didn't bother to turn on the light as he leaned forward and offered his brother a hand, hefting a grumpy Murphy up and pulling him into his chest.

"Ye eejit," Connor couldn't stop the little snorting laughs spilling out of his throat as he found his way through the dark room, the bed-frame hitting the backside of his knees.

"Oi, shut it, or ye aren't gettin any!" Murphy snapped, but there was no real vigor to the threat. They both knew how this was going to end up, with one of them sprawled on his back.

"Aye-aye, whatever, brotha'," Connor tugged at Murphy's shirt, hitching it up and pulling it over his head, the images of his twin shamelessly wrapping his strong leg around his waist flashing through his mind. Oh, but did that fucker dash out everything he had on the fucking floor. Connor thought he was going to be a dead man come morning if they didn't leave soon. Thankfully, his prayers have been heard and Murphy finally relented, done with the teasing and telling Connor he wanted to go home, wanted to _fuck_. The blond MacManus might have given a pathetic whine, covered up by the music.

Throwing the shirt on the floor, Connor impatiently tugged on his twin's belt, growling when it didn't come loose fast enough. Murphy's infectious laugh made him glance up and shut the fucker with a kiss.

As his fumbling fingers pulled Murph's jeans and boxers down in one go, the younger MacManus kneaded Connor's tense shoulders, making him groan in pleasure and relief.

"Conn, yer overdressed," complained Murphy, a tiny smirk reaching his eyes as he licked the string of saliva hanging from the corner of Connor's mouth.

"Then fucken fix it!" grunted his brother.

They hit the bed completely naked, falling in a tangle of limbs and a string of demanding, muffled moans, refusing to part from each other and swallowing each other's tongues.

Connor wanted to tell Murphy what a fucking tease he was being, to demand an explanation about his dancing skills, to mock his choice of drink for this night, but a pair of deft, calloused fingers traveling down his spine and counting every bump along the way stole every word about to spill from his bruised lips.

As Connor kissed a wet, sloppy trail down Murphy's neck, feeling the younger buck up into him, he couldn't get rid of the image of Murphy twirling his hips, showcasing that tight, firm ass clad in dark-blue jeans to his twin.

Connor definitely planned to tap that.

Jamming a knee between Murphy's legs and pushing it right up against his balls, Connor bit into the junction between his neck and shoulder, sucking on the salty skin and listening to the loud, heavy breaths of his brother through the ringing in his head.

They were both hard, both on edge and ready to go.

"Come on, up, ye wanker," Connor growled out, pulling away from the tangy skin with a lewd sound and grabbing Murphy by the hips.

The younger MacManus wasn't about to retort, helping Connor by planting his feet on the covers (they didn't bother unmaking the bed, screw that, fucking was more important) and lifting his hips.

Connor caught Murphy's gaze and received a hasty nod before taking himself in hand and lining up.

"Jesus," he panted as he started to push in, the tight hit gripping him almost to the point of hurting.

"Lord's fucken...name-" Murphy gasped, "Conn!"  
Connor would laugh if he wasn't trying to get balls-deep into his twin brother. As it was, he was rather occupied at the moment.

Bottoming out with a long, hoarse (fucken club, making them shout so much their voices would probably stay this way until tomorrow) moan, Connor placed a hand on Murphy's soft stomach, splaying out his fingers and catching a minute to breathe.

Murphy blinked and licked the sweat beaded on his upper lip, his sides trembling.

He was fucking gorgeous.

Stabilizing himself by moving closer to Murph, knees pressed against his ass, Connor reached for his twin's hand, the one with the cross tattooed into his skin, and brought it up to his mouth, placing a gentle, loving kiss on his knuckles.

Murphy snorted awkwardly, tilting his head sideways.

"Murph, look at me," Connor's voice was soft and undemanding, but it was an instinct for Murphy to follow his brother, and so he looked.

"Tá grá agam duit [_I love you_]," he said with a smile.

Murphy's breath hitched, his eyes glazed over from what could be drunkenness, but Connor knew better.

"Tá grá agam duitse freisin [_I love you too_]," Murphy's voice was barely above a whisper, but the words caused Connor's eyes to ignite with a new passion, and then he moved, erasing the tenderness of the moment with undiluted lust, drowning it in overwhelming, greedy love and pleasure.

The moans became prolonged, the grunts more pronounced with each forceful thrust and snap of the hips, the twins' bodies soon drenched and slick with sweat, the covers crumpled and skewed underneath them.

Blunt nails dug into Connor's strong back, leaving red marks he wouldn't be able to conceal, so no going around half-naked when Rocco was around.

Muscles flexed, chests heaved and Murphy threw his head back, dark tresses splaying on the white pillowcase and reminding Connor of a black crown, a halo.

Murphy writhed on the covers, trying to get as much sensation as possible, feeling the rough material rubbing against his back and legs and driving him mad with desire. Soon he was biting his lips and breathing in short, huffed gulps, scratching down Connor's arms and wrapping one leg around his waist to press him down.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed as Connor hit a particular spot within his body. The fucker avoided it on purpose, but now seemed to finally condescend and give in to his brother's needs.

Murphy's head was swimming, heart hammering out of his ribcage as Connor pushed in, and in, and in, and oh fuck, he wanted him to go _further_, _deeper_, so he clutched at Connor's shoulders and toppled him over, brining his left leg up to wrap around him as well.

The blond huffed loudly, not expecting the action and loosing his rhythm. Murphy didn't give a damn, he started moving himself. Little thrusts down, lacking the proper amplitude, but the press of Connor's weight on top of his body sent his nerves into a singing nirvana.

Seeming to catch onto his twin's thought process, the elder of the two gripped him across the middle and buried his face in Murph's shoulder, letting out warm huffs of dump air against his skin.

The came like that, rutting, entwined to the point where they couldn't tell which set of limbs belong to Connor or Murphy. Their orgasms hit them at the same time, bodies working like a well-oiled machine attuned to the other's, and as they shuddered and released unrestrained moans (Murphy) and a string of curses (Connor), they felt the tingling at their fingertips.

At that moment the MacManus twins could swear they _felt_ what the other was feeling, multiplying their own sensations tenfold and making this an almost out-of-body experience.

* * *

"So, which, which club did you guys go to?" asked Rocco, looking from one twin to the other.

The MacManuses were slumped on the creaky stools at McGinty's, nursing a beer each and having smug, albeit tired smiles plastered on their faces.

"Don't remember," said Murphy.

"Aye, me neither," added Connor. "Some name or the other, huge-ass neon sign, who cares!"

Rocco eyes them suspiciously before giving a nod, forming a smile of his own, "Well, it sure looks like you two had one helluva time!"

"Why is that?" Murphy quirked an eyebrow at the slovenly Italian, who just pointed at their necks.

"You, you got bruises and shit, all over man," Rocco looked at them in what could have been friendly envy. "Damn, guys, you should really give me the club's name! You two sure got lucky there!"

The twins gave a neighing laugh, casting sideways glances the other's way and taking a gulp of the Guinness.

"Aye, aye, sure Roc, sure," snickered Connor. "Maybe later, when we remember, alright?"

They found it very hard not to burst into laughter at the Italian's hopeful expression.

Oh yeah, they sure _did_ get lucky that night.

Thank fuck for Connor and his stupid ideas.


End file.
